Seasons

 August 31, 2023

Today is officially (at least in my mind) the end of summer. We may have summery days ahead, but September to me, says “Autumn.” Today I began fall preparations for my bees; the goldenrod is just beginning to bloom, and they will be busy storing its nectar to make it through winter. I’ll treat them for mites and before too long will harvest the last of the honey, making sure I leave enough for them to make it through till the first bloom of April.

Tuesday, a crew came in to take down dead and dying ash trees all along the creek bank. The logs are lying in four different piles around the yard, waiting for me to block, split, and stack them for winter warmth. This evening, we attended our grandson’s first fall soccer game this year, and tomorrow afternoon, I plan to spend an hour at the college playing bass for the New Horizons jazz band rehearsal. 

I’m sure Moses didn’t have my schedule in mind when he penned God’s promise to Noah:

“As long as the earth endures, seed and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will not cease.” —Genesis 8:22 

Nevertheless, we are turning the page once more. The doomsday prophets and Chicken Little fear-mongers will have their say, but I have something more sure—the promise of God. So I say, “Bring it on! With the changing of the seasons will come new adventures, new experiences, and new evidences of the faithfulness and love of God, the mercy of Jesus Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit. On top of all that, each change of seasons brings us one season closer to the fulfillment of the best of promises; Jesus’ return in power and glory!

One Generation Away

 August 30, 2023

“One generation shall praise your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.” —Psalm 145:4

It’s been said that the Church is only one generation away from extinction. This psalm gives the only remedy for such a terrible fate, and yet few Christians have ever shared their faith with even a single other person. Churches sometimes die because the community around them has disappeared. In my corner of the country, I have witnessed more than one once-thriving congregation that simply withered away as people moved away and what was once a vibrant small community simply vanished. 

However, far more churches have died not because the community disappeared, but because the members of the congregation just assumed the pastor or someone else would take care of the Christian education. Their own commitment to the faith was hit-and-miss and there was no instruction of their children in the home. If children grow up seeing that their parents aren’t serious about Christ, that other activities and interests trump worship; if they see their parents saying one thing on Sundays and living by an entirely different ethos Monday through Saturday; if they never see their parents studying the Scriptures, praying, going out of their way to serve others, the parents’ profession wears pretty thin.

My parents weren’t the best at leading us in prayer and Bible reading. They tried, but those times together were often awkward. There was no question however, about their faithfulness in worship and the integrity by which they lived their lives. I remember times when they made deliberate and difficult decisions that “put their money where their mouths were,” so to speak. 

We don’t have to be perfect, but it is imperative that the faith we profess we also transmit to our children in both word and deed. If we fail here, the judgment of Judges 2 may be our fate:

“When all that generation had been gathered to their fathers, another generation arose after them who did not know the Lord nor the work which He had done for Israel. Then the children of Israel did evil in the sight of the Lord, and served the Baals…And the anger of the Lord was hot against Israel. So He delivered them into the hands of plunderers who despoiled them; and He sold them into the hands of their enemies all around, so that they could no longer stand before their enemies.”

—Judges 2:10-11, 14 

I have often failed and am far from perfect in this regard, but it is my earnest desire to be able to someday stand before the Lord and say, 

“Here am I, and the children whom God has given Me.”

—Hebrews 2:13 

Angry Freedom

August 29, 2023

There is a big difference between having to say something and having something to say. 

I’ve not been writing quite as religiously as I was doing before my last trip to Cuba. I’m not sure why; I don’t know what has changed in me other than sometimes I just can’t think of anything worth saying that I haven’t said before. I don’t want to merely have to say something because I’ve locked myself into an evening pattern. Last night, for example, I sat for nearly an hour trying to tease some morsel of wisdom from my brain. The well was dry.

Tonight is different, but it all begins yesterday at dusk. I had just come home from a wonderful men’s gathering at Bemus Point Methodist. I didn’t actually count, but as one used to taking the measure of a crowd, I’d say at least seventy-five men had gathered to eat, talk, and hear the Word of God. It was great meeting new friends and reconnecting with some guys I haven’t seen in awhile.

It was getting dark when I got home, and I had work to do. We were having some trees taken down today, and I had to get my beehives covered so the men could work undisturbed. About a half-hour’s work, and they were all tucked in for the night…and day. This morning the crew arrived and dove into their work without harassment from my little yellow ladies. 

Linda and I had a couple errands to run in the afternoon, and when we got back, the trees were down and staged, ready for me to cut and split, and the crew had left. It was time to set the captives free. 

You would think they would be grateful to be released from the confines of the netting, but the little ingrates celebrated their newfound freedom by (figuratively speaking) biting the hand that feeds them. In this case, it was attacking my ankles. I had had the foresight to suit up, but instead of putting on my high rubber boots, I was wearing my regular shoes. I have to give them credit—they know how to find the chink in the armor, ignoring my head and torso while going for the unprotected ankles. Some even managed to crawl up my pant legs to sting me in rather delicate places. They showed no mercy, and here I was, just like my son’s high school friend when they went after him years ago. He burst through our kitchen door, dropped his jeans while doing a rather impressive version of the Mexican Hat Dance, slapping at his legs as he hopped across the kitchen floor while Linda stood wondering what in the world was going on. Except for dropping the drawers, that was me this afternoon.

So why say all this, other than to tell a funny story? (If you don’t see the humor in this, you need a better imagination). I suppose there are a number of lessons to be learned, the first of which is to be ready to learn something from each of life’s experiences, even those that sting. The other that comes to mind is that not everyone is happy being free. If you don’t believe me, just listen to the complaints from those who made bad decisions (government-funded student loans come to mind) and expect others to bail them out. They would rather be slaves to an all-encompassing government than shoulder the responsibility of their free choices. Others would gladly give up freedom for supposed safety. Our country’s recent covid debacle is evidence of that. 

In matters of faith, there are many who would willingly accept the bondage of religious duty rather than live in the freedom of faith in Jesus Christ. Rules are easier than relationship, but they are easily transformed into prisons. 

Here’s the irony: just like my bees, when someone comes along actually offering freedom, that someone often becomes the object of the prisoners’ fury. It happened to Jesus, and it happens to anyone who challenges the status quo of our imprisonment. Today’s dance with the ladies is merely an illustration of life. So if you actually are one offering freedom, be prepared to get stung, or worse. And if someone comes along offering freedom to you, please don’t sting them. Like my honeybees, every sting is a suicide mission. It will be for you, too. That’s what I have to say tonight.

 

Baptism

August 27, 2003

Someone asked me today if I knew how many people have been baptized in the swimming hole on our property. I really don’t know, but we are happy to be able to host baptismal services here whenever asked. Today, seven were baptized, from young children to an older adult. Linda and I get front row seats to the beginnings of new life in Christ, and today we didn’t even have to chase away the snakes.

Watching the baptisms gets a bit nostalgic for me. It used to be me down in the water, welcoming people into the family of faith with the words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!” Ordinary, yet powerful words I don’t get to say these days. But I do get to hear, and in a sense, host these words, and am privileged to witness with all the others standing on our lawn, the first steps of these newborn believers. 

Maybe I’ll ask pastor Joe how many people have been baptized in our creek. Numbers aren’t everything, but each number is a person, and each person matters to God. The waters flowing over the little falls into our swimming hole can’t wash away anyone’s sins, but they symbolize what can—faith in Jesus Christ who died on a cross to wash our sins away. Today we witnessed seven people confess that faith; seven people precious to God. For this, we rejoice today.

 

Empty Calendar Days

 August 26, 2023

Last night, I asked Linda what she had scheduled on her calendar for today. She looked and replied, “Nothing.” We were both surprised; my day was open, too. There aren’t many Saturdays where that happens; the next three Saturdays are all filled. An empty calendar however, doesn’t necessarily mean an empty day.

Shortly after our calendar conversation, our granddaughter’s grandparents-in-law called and asked if we would be willing to let them take us out for lunch or dinner. They are wonderful Christian people, were in the area for the weekend, and we were delighted to say yes. “We might have to make it for about 1:00, because a friend had called to tell us he and his son-in-law would be over with his big tractor to move a big rock we wanted as a border for our new garden. 

I was working out just before 9:00 when they pulled into our driveway, ready to work. It only took about five minutes before they were on their way, so I called Abi’s grandparents-in-law to let them know we could meet earlier. They were at our door at 11:00 am, and we had a wonderful lunch and conversation with them. We pulled into our driveway about 2:30 to find an unfamiliar car parked there. As I got out of the car, the occupants of the other vehicle got out of theirs. It was Bill and Judy Hulett, returning some items from the Healthy Bones classes that Linda teaches.

We invited them in, and an hour and a half later, Judy said, “Well, I guess we had better be going.” 

From an empty calendar came a full day. Some people I suppose, would consider the unplanned people to be an intrusion. The schedule is paramount to them; change it, and their neatly ordered world collapses. We’ve lived long enough to know that many of God’s best blessings come unexpected and unplanned. Such was the case today. We were blessed by good people who invited us into their lives as we invited them into ours. And when everyone had gone their various ways, we still managed to get the lawn mowed and trimmed, and had a wonderful Facetime video chat with our eldest granddaughter.

All this is a good reminder that life isn’t about our jobs, our plans, our schedules. In the Church, it’s not about the programs and ministries. It’s all about the people. If we “get everything done,” but don’t see the people God puts in our paths, we’ve completely missed the boat. When Jesus was passing through Samaria at lunchtime, while his disciples went into the city to get lunch, Jesus had a conversation with a woman at a well. The disciples came back with their lunch and were surprised that Jesus wasn’t hungry. 

The woman had gone home and told her friends and neighbors about her conversation with Jesus. They were streaming out from the city to hear what he had to say. Jesus looked at them and told his disciples, “I have food you don’t know about.” They had seen many of these same people as they were looking for their lunch, but they didn’t see them as people, but as human vending machines who could give them what they wanted. Jesus wasn’t looking for what they could give him, but what he could give them. 

When we see people as Jesus sees them, we begin to see what we can offer, not what we can get. But in the offering, we receive far more than we give. Linda and I had the opportunity to experience this great blessing on this empty calendar day.

Tick-Tock

 August 25, 2023

It’s bedtime at the Baileys. The day’s work is done, and I’ve finished with my Friday night routine; the clocks are all wound for the week. Sometimes I forget, and when I remember on Saturday, one or more will have stopped, necessitating not only a winding, but coordinating the chime with the hour. The method required for doing so is different with each clock; sometimes it’s just a matter of pushing the tiny rod that controls the mechanism. Other clocks require me to turn the hands to the next hour, wait for the chimes, and repeat till the time on the clock is the same as the hour at the moment. The grandfather clock is the easiest; I only need to pull the chains for the weights. 

Years ago, a friend made me a wall clock carved out of black walnut with a scene of ducks rising from a pond. Battery operated, I didn’t need to wind it, but it gave a faint tick-tock that drove our granddaughter Abi crazy. On the Fridays when the grandkids would stay overnight, she would take it off the wall and set it in the kitchen because the ticking kept her awake. I never could understand it; I find the steady, rhythmic tick-tocking quite soothing, and have considered leaving one of my antiques to Abi in my will. My friend died some years ago, and I gave this clock to his daughter to give to her son when he’s old enough to appreciate his grandfather’s craftsmanship.

The day will surely come when I’ll wind them for the last time. When that day comes, I don’t know who’ll want these old clocks. They aren’t convenient. They need occasional adjustment. They’re relics of a past long gone. The 1880’s shelf clock with the grandfather clock in our dining room, the old schoolhouse clock and the cast iron shelf clock in the living room, and the large wall clock in our bedroom will in all likelihood end up in auction or at a second-hand store.

My father used to sing a song about grandfather’s clock that “was bought on the morn that the old man was born…but it stopped short, never to run again when the old man died.” All my clocks bring to mind the psalm that says, “My times are in thy hands.” The older I get, the more aware I am of the fleeting nature of this earthly life. My clocks tick by the seconds, reminding me that each of those ticks is a precious moment that will not come my way again, and that I must as Paul said, “redeem the time, for the days are evil.” We too easily forget that life has a goal and a goalpost. Jesus himself is the goal, and that last tick of the clock is the goalpost. I don’t want to reach the latter having neglected the former, so may every tick-tock turn me to Christ.

To a New Generation

 August 24, 2023

“Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; 

And His greatness is unsearchable. 

One generation shall praise 

Your works to another, 

And shall declare Your mighty acts. 

I will meditate on the glorious splendor of Your majesty, 

And on Your wondrous works.”

—Psalm 145:3-5 

Psalm 145 almost reads in reverse. Instead of beginning with all God has done for him, David tells us how he will respond to God’s goodness with praise, witness, and meditation. Two things stand out to me in these opening words.

The first is the commitment to “meditate on the glorious splendor of [God’s] majesty.” Livings as we do in a digital world where information is literally at our fingertips twenty-four hours a day, meditation of any kind often gets shoved to the back burner. Only a few generations ago, the news was printed weekly. Buy a newspaper, read it, and think about it for an entire week before the next edition came out. Then it was daily, or perhaps twice daily. For most of my life, the news on television came on at 5:00 and 11:00 pm. Radio would keep us updated hourly, but the advent of cable news and then the internet inundates us with a constant barrage of news bites from people and organizations that have an agenda other than giving us the news.

Meditation—thoughtful consideration—is almost a thing of the past unless we make a determined effort, disciplining our time and thoughts, taking control of our minds by giving attention to matters of our own choosing; in this case, “the glorious splendor of God’s majesty.” I wonder how our lives would be different if instead of fretting over whatever is happening in Washington, Beijing, or Moscow, we turned our thoughts towards the God before whom all rulers and kingdoms will one day bow.

The second thing that grabs my attention in these verses is his declaration that “one generation shall praise [God’s] works to another…” This reminds me that the Gospel is only one generation away from extinction. A generation no longer with us declared God’s mighty acts to me. It’s now my obligation to do the same to generations that follow. Linda and I tried to be faithful in doing so with our children and also with our grandchildren. The Lord has opened another door for us with our Creek Kids, so we’re at it again, declaring to them the work of Christ on the Cross for their salvation, the mighty act of the forgiveness of sins, and the glorious majesty of the future Christ has secured for them. We’ve only just begun, but the adventure beckons, and we are doing everything we can to walk through the open door God has provided. 

We can only do so if we have first meditated on God’s glorious majesty. We have nothing to give if we haven’t first received, and we receive only as God’s Word is firmly planted in our own hearts. So tonight, I meditate, so tomorrow, I can praise his works to a new generation.

Stir it Up!

 August 23, 2023

“God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” —II Timothy 1:6-7 

In 1 Corinthians, Paul speaks of the gifts of the Spirit as special abilities God offers to Christians enabling them to serve the Church effectively. Preaching, teaching, hospitality, encouragement, healing, etc. are what we usually think of when a Christian talks of spiritual gifts. This however, isn’t what Paul has in mind here. I’ve often quoted this verse to those who are fearful of all that’s happening in our world or in their lives. We love the thought that God has given us power, love, and a sound mind.

What we often forget is that Paul precedes this statement with this one:

“I remind you to stir up the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands.”

God has given us these wonderful gifts of power, love, and a sound mind, but it’s our responsibility to “stir them up.” We cannot simply claim these three qualities; they must be cultivated through prayer, the reading of Scripture, worship, fellowship, service. Not one of these character traits can simply be received. Power (ie. strength) only comes through the discipline of exercise, spiritually or physically. Love can’t just be handed to you on a platter. It only grows as it is tested. A sound mind is developed through diligent study and weighing of facts and opinions.

We all like gifts; we don’t necessarily like the hard work of stirring them up, but that’s the job God has given us along with the gift. He gave it, we must develop it. Let’s get to work!

Semper Paratus

 August 22, 2023

“Semper Paratus,” “Always Prepared.” It’s the official Coast Guard motto, but it’s their unofficial motto that grabs my attention. I’ve been reading “The Finest Hours,” a true story of what’s been called the Coast Guard’s most daring rescue. It took place off the coast of Cape Cod in February, 1952 when two aging oil tankers broke in two in a raging winter storm that produced 70ft waves. I learned their unofficial motto while reading this riveting account of a few men in two thirty foot boats risking their lives for the crewmen trapped in the floating coffins of what was left of their ships.

The Church of Jesus Christ could do worse than to adopt this unofficial motto for ourselves: “You have to go out. You don’t have to return.” We have grown so comfortable in our faith, lulled into a drowsiness that assures us all is well so long as we face no difficulties in life. We’ve lost the evangelistic fervor that captivated St. Paul and the other apostles, the passion of men like Wycliffe, Wesley, Moody, and Spurgeon to see the lost found, the dying saved. We can be brought to tears at the artificial emotions of an actor or actress, while remaining completely unmoved by the cries of little girls bought and sold for the pleasure of evil men, or the addict slowly dying one fix at a time. 

We don’t even go out, let alone allow ourselves to be concerned with coming back. God help us! This book isn’t Scripture; it hasn’t the inspiration of the Holy Spirit behind it, but it is a challenge to me to examine my heart and ask, “If a Coast Guardsman is willing to live and die by such a mantra, why not me as a Christian?” It’s a proper and hard question to which I have yet to come up with a good answer. How about you?

Bees, Bass, and Life

 August 21, 2023

“I keep bees.” That sounds impressive (or crazy) to the uninitiated, but let me assure you, I would be better described similarly to when I say, “I am a bassist.” Honesty in both areas compels me to admit that I’m not much more than a hack at either. Mind you, I love playing my bass, and I love fiddling with the bees, but I am such a slather-a** with both that I can hardly claim even a modicum of proficiency with either.

As I’ve said of my musical ability, I am living proof that you don’t have to be good at music to enjoy it. The same goes for my bees. I have odds and ends of mismatched equipment that makes it challenging to manage the colonies efficiently; so far, I seem to muddle through, though it would behoove me to get organized just a bit. Fortunately, I’m not in it for the money. If I were, I would need to get my act together last month. It’s enough for me to be able to sell enough to keep me from going broke while enabling me to give or trade with friends and family.

From what I can see, there’s a lot of people who live their lives like I keep bees and play bass: doing just enough to scrape by, but not putting in the time and effort needed to actually improve and make something of themselves. Even Christians often claim the Name while refusing to allow the Name to claim them. Not a lot hinges on how I keep bees or play bass, but everything depends on whether Jesus is merely a label or whether he is Lord. Life and salvation is not something to be played with carelessly; Jesus said it better than anyone: “What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?” —Mark 8:36 

What, indeed?

Generational Faith

 August 20, 2023

“So the people served the Lord all the days of Joshua, and all the days of the elders who outlived Joshua, who had seen all the great works of the Lord which He had done for Israel. Now Joshua the son of Nun, the servant of the Lord, died when he was one hundred and ten years old. When all that generation had been gathered to their fathers, another generation arose after them who did not know the Lord nor the work which He had done for Israel.” —Judges 2:7-8, 10 

When I was actively serving as pastor, people occasionally would ask Linda and me to teach a class on raising kids, specifically, raising teenagers. We always declined, with the rationale that we weren’t out of the woods yet. Even as they grew up, married, and had kids of their own, we were somewhat reluctant; in my mind, the real proof isn’t in how your children, but how your grandchildren turn out. Now that we’ve pretty well passed that milestone, people don’t ask anymore. I guess we’re too old and fuddy-duddyish to do the job today, but I’m going to take an initial stab at the subject anyway.

This text from the book of Judges has always intrigued me. I think it holds a key to raising children who follow the Lord. This morning’s sermon was based on Deuteronomy 6:5-9–

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength. “And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

These words give a good foundation for raising godly children, starting with the parents’ own commitment to, and love for, God. Building on that love is the command to let God’s Word dig deep into our hearts. For too many Christians, their faith is a shallow, strictly emotional engagement that cannot withstand the very real storms of life. They worship sporadically, rarely read the Bible themselves, living a generally good, but not Christ-centered life.

The command continues: “Teach God’s Word diligently to your children.” Instruction in the faith is not to be left in the hands of the professionals—pastors, priests, or rabbis. It is the job of the parents to teach their children what it means to trust in Christ and follow him. And this instruction has both formal and informal components, using every opportunity as a teaching moment. It must be lived out in clear and open ways, by what our hands find to do, how we guard our eyes, and how life in the home is structured according to the Scriptures.

The above opening words from Judges reveal the consequences of our failure to heed Deuteronomy. A generation arose who hadn’t personally experienced the miracles of the Exodus and therefore, didn’t know the Lord. Why hadn’t this younger generation experienced the power of God that had delivered their parents from Egypt? I think it was because their parents settled down to a watered-down husk of religion. 

It is our job as parents to provide the means for our children to see God at work, but we get so comfortable in our redeemed lives that we cease taking risks for Jesus. If our children don’t see us willing to take on challenges that can only succeed if God is in it, how are they to know that God actually delivers? If my faith isn’t challenged, isn’t stretched, theirs cannot develop. Too often, we play it safe, venturing only as far as we deem possible, thus ensuring that our kids never see God do the impossible. 

The world in which I grew up was generally supportive of Christianity. The world of my children was generally tolerant of it. The world of my grandchildren is generally antagonistic to it. If all they see is a flaccid faith that can only survive in a supportive culture, my grandchildren will rightfully reject that faith. It is up to me to teach and demonstrate the power of Christ to come through when my back is to the wall, when apart from God’s intervention, all will be lost. This will mean at the least, that I refuse to be lazy, to rest on whatever my accomplishments may be, and like Peter, boldly step out of the boat to walk on a raging sea. By God’s grace, I will do so until the day I die.

Inside a Proverb

 August 19, 2023

Generally speaking, when it comes to Bible translations, I prefer the old King James Version, or its modern descendent the New King James. The newer translations however, often reword things in such a way that makes me sit up and listen as it grabs my attention. Such is the case with today’s reading from the Proverbs, a text that deals with generational curses and blessings.

“Stupid children can bring their parents to ruin. A nagging wife is like water going drip-drip-drip. A man can inherit a house and money from his parents, but only the Lord can give him a sensible wife.” —Proverbs 19:13-14 GNT

These words are so much more arresting than the traditional “A foolish son is the ruin of his father, And the contentions of a wife are a continual dripping. Houses and riches are an inheritance from fathers, But a prudent wife is from the Lord.” The meaning is the same, but the impact is different. This traditionalist is leaning towards the contemporary twist.

Linda and I have children who continue to bless, rather than ruin, us. Not only they, but their children also. As I was sitting down to write, our granddaughter Josephine popped in to take a shower. They’ve been without hot water for a few days, so our home has become the campground bathhouse. We had a brief conversation about her first week at college before she was back on the road. 

I can’t say much about a nagging wife. Linda occasionally “reminds me” of things I’ve promised to do, or of unpleasant tasks that though distasteful, still need to be done, but I must confess that those reminders fall far short of “drip, drip, drip.” 

Neither Linda nor I inherited a house from our parents, although we once came close to it. There was some money, but neither of our parents had much of a fortune to leave. I remember my father worrying that he and my mother didn’t have much to leave us by way of inheritance. I was almost angry with him thinking this way. My response was, “You and mom gave us far more than money. You gave us the inheritance of integrity, love, and faith in Christ that’s worth far more than anything else you could have left. You owe us nothing. We owe you!”

These verses speak of children, parents, and spouses; specifically, wives. Again—no dripping here; Linda is God’s second-best gift to me, second only to Jesus Christ. Her faithfulness and patience is amazing, as is her ability to put her own feelings and well-being aside for the good of others. “Always do the right thing” is her mantra, and I have been the recipient of that attitude far more than I deserve. 

I often tell those in my Bible studies to place themselves in the story. “In this parable, which person are you,” I often ask. Tonight I find myself smack in the middle of this proverb, and know God has given me far better than I could ever deserve.